My Name is Scout
by schnook
Summary: He’s wearing his best suit, the one he keeps in the room I’m Not Allowed In Under Any Circumstances, and that surely is a sign from God himself." One-shot; Scout, Jem and Atticus


**a one-shot purely without point, told by my alter-ego: Scout.**

my name is scout.

My father is getting married.

He's wearing his best suit, the one he keeps in the room I'm Not Allowed In Under Any Circumstances, and that surely is a sign from God himself.

It's been freshly pressed, too; the handy work of Calpurnia, no doubt. He never has pressed suits on hand, and I promptly wondered how long he's been planning to marry this woman without telling me. Calpurnia would have known, too, if she had pressed his things. At least he _lets_ her near his clothes – there'll be hell to pay if she's gone and done the same to my dresses.

I hope he's marrying someone nice. Someone kindly and clever, though more of the first is required then the latter. Clever women are nice – I do like Ms. Maudie, she bakes nicely - but I'd like this lady to be kind, so she'll let me climb through my window at night or buy me a new baton if I asked for one as we passed the store. She'll smell like fresh flowers, fresher even then the ones Jem got from Mrs. Dubose, and buy all kinds of sweets for me, you know – doing the things that mothers do.

Now he's packing a briefcase, and this throws me off a little. A briefcase? Really? I haven't been to that many weddings, and the ones I do remember never had briefcases in them. I hope he's packed some clothing and toothbrush for himself in there; he'll be going on his honeymoon straight away when the weddings been done an' dusted. That is, if they _are_ going on a honeymoon. I have no idea if this woman will want a husband after she's done with the groom. If she decides she does, though, they can go to a tropical Island, or somewhere exotic, like Canada, while Jem and I look after the house for 'em. And Boo – mustn't forget Boo. He can help, too.

I pick at my scabs running along my knee absentmindedly while my father scurries around the house like a rat. He does that sometimes – scurry, and it's sure as hell funny to watch. He flounders about and I don't know why he looks so nervous. He walks up to the window, pushes the curtain aside, looks out, then returns to scurrying. Then he'll do it again, and again. I have an impulse to check it out for myself once he's done looking, but I can't be bothered moving. I'm comfortable.

It looks like he's packed and now he's twistin' ana' turnin' looking for me and Jem, still all frantic-like. Jem's outside – like he always is – moping in the yard or doing some such thing. He's been troublesome the last few weeks, and Cal's told me to keep my own and just let him be. Naturally, then, I got to check on him every now and again, just to know he's doing okay.

He finally spots me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and offers a short wave, the kind you're about to give someone then change your mind half-way through. I make a mental note to remember the look of his hand – it'll have a ring on it by the time he's back from his honeymoon. The thought makes me shift on the floor uncomfortably.

"Aren't you going to find Jem?" I ask him, because I need to pick up on this whole _sibling_ affair, and a distraction from the emotions building in my chest. I try to clear my throat, but they are still there.

"I've seen him," he tells me, his eyes a little unfocused, which is strange for him. Then he suddenly eyes me seriously, and just as quickly I've guessed what he is about to say. "Stay out of trouble, young lady. I'll be home late tonight, so don't even think about waiting up."

I nod obediently, like I always do, and it almost looks as if he's trying to hide a smile as I do so. Odd.

He glances at the window again, and I remember I really should go see what's so interesting. The circus, Mary Brown from school said, doesn't come till next month. "And if anyone comes around here while I'm gone, don't answer it. Call Calpurnia straight away, understand?" He tells me quietly, like a mouse.

I don't understand, so I nod again dutifully.

He sighs and suddenly looks old. I contemplate reaching out to him and smoothing those lines that stretch across his forehead, but the idea is too childish, and I'm certainly too old to be doing such things.

"Alright," he wavers, as if reluctant to leave and meet his bride. Perhaps this lady had more cleverness than kindness, after all. I feel a sort of detached pity for him, and move to shoo him out the door. "Well, I'll be at the courts. See you in the morning."

Courts?

As soon as the front door closes, I make a mad dash for the back.

"Jem!" I cry out from the back porch, projecting my voice to anywhere and everywhere that looks suitable for a Jem to hide. The reply comes from deep within the branches of the tallest tree in our yard. We love that tree; we could always boast to the other kids at school about it, and there would be no superior specimen.

"What?" Jem called back grumpily.

"He's getting married!"

There's a lengthy pause, and to entertain myself I turn my attention back to the scabs on my knee.

Finally, he speaks. "Who is, Scout?" He sounds genuinely puzzled.

"Atticus!" I shout out to him, and the formal name sits funny on my tongue. I'm not sure why I called my father 'Atticus.' It just seemed right while he was away and busy marrying some clever lady I didn't know.

There was another pause, in which I successfully detached a good ten-pence-sized scab from my knee. I grinned at it as I held it up closer to my face for inspection.

"No he ain't."

"He is, too!"

"He's gone to court. How can he be gettin' married _and_ goin' to court?" Jem patronized me. I hated it when he did that. I could almost hear the euphoric smile plastered on his face.

"He'll be getting married _in_ the court, you idiot!" I retaliated.

Honestly, boys can be so _stupid_ sometimes, let alone _brothers_.

"You can't do that!" Jem cried. "He ain't marrying no one – he's going to work."

I decided to shut my trap and hope Jem was right, though I'd never tell _him_ that.

**A little pointless,**** true, but I missed the characters and wanted to write about them. **

**I also haven't read the book in about three years, so please forgive any stupid mistakes I've made.**

**Anyway, I just had a random urge to write.**

**And that, kids, is how this little number was conceived.**


End file.
